FRANK'S CHILD

DISCLAIMER: Mine, actually, most of them. Must be considered rare, for a fanfic story.

SUMMARY: Rape is always difficult, for the victim and for her family. It's even worse when the rapist isn't human.

FEEDBACK: yes! yes! yes!


Maureen hadn't expected Frank home quite so soon, but she was happy to see him coming. For one thing, she needed to talk some more with him about that unpleasant incident the day before. It wasn't as if she wasn't used to strange men trying to pick her up, but they usually weren't as persuasive as the man yesterday had been. It had seemed as if he would never give up, and she was certain that if Frank hadn't suddenly come to her rescue, somehow the man would have had his way with her. Furthermore, she wasn't so sure he wouldn't give it another try.

Hello, love, she said. You're home early, aren't you?

I wanted to be with you, he said, and there was a certain something to his voice that she couldn't recall hearing before.

Well that's all very nice, but what did your boss have to say about that?

he replied, moving closer to her.

Nothing? And you want me to believe that? She teasingly avoided his touch. Now, don't be silly, Frank, I have some work to do myself.

Make love to me. Right here, right now.

She laughed a little. This wasn't what she really wanted right now, but what the heck.

Then he kissed her, and when his lips let go, she backed away, confused. The truth dawned on her.

You're not Frank.

I promise you won't even notice the difference, he whispered in her ear.

Who are you? She was getting afraid. Please go away! I'll call the police! I

His face changed, and she found herself screaming violently at the horrifying thing standing next to her. As he kissed her again, she felt spikes perforating her skin, and she also felt something else, something very soothing spreading through her body.

This isn't too bad, is it? he asked her.

she answered. Not bad at all. She turned her face towards him. I am ready.

**********

Frank searched through the house, more and more nervous. If she had gone out, why didn't she leave him a note or something? Maybe she had never come home at all. Maybe something had happened to her at work - but if it had, wouldn't somebody have called him? When he finally found her lying in the bedroom he took a deep breath of relief. She was just sleeping.

Hey, Maureen, wake up! he said, lying down next to her. She didn't budge, and now he noticed the bloody marks around her mouth. Calling her name again, he took a closer look at her and realized what sort of state her clothing was in.

Oh my God Maureen, can you hear me? He shook his wife in panic. She started to move, her eyes opened, and the next second she was pushing him away.

Don't touch me! she cried.

What happened to you? Tears flowed down Frank's cheeks. I should have been here

She stared at him. Are you Frank?

Of course I am! he answered, puzzled. Had she gone crazy?

Prove it. Say something only Frank would know.

This was strange, he thought, but he could see that she meant it. Alright. You haven't used a hairdryer since Anne Reid left Coronation Street.

Relief showed in her face, and she threw herself in his arms. Oh, Frank! She buried her face in his chest and he could feel her sobbing. I didn't want it to happen, I promise! She was close to hysteria, and he rocked her slowly.

Of course you didn't. Jesus, Maureen, of course you didn't. He searched through his mind in panic, trying to find out what to do, and was relieved when a name shone through in perfect clarity. Judith. Gently, he let go of his wife and rose to his feet. Do you want me to call Judith?

She nodded, but the next second she pleaded: Don't leave me!

I won't leave you. I'll just make the phone call, then I'll return to you. Alright?
she whispered.

Although he was crying, he managed to smile at her. Good girl.

His hands shook as he dialed the number. Judith? It's Frank. Listen, Maureen has been he couldn't manage to use the word 'raped'. attacked, by a man.

He then heard his wife's sister use that hateful word, and he couldn't stop the sobs. Yes, she's hurt. I don't know how bad. She's awake. There are bloody marks around her mouth.

Judith's voice changed at this remark. Mouth? Was he sure? Thoughtfulness was mixed with the shock as she assured him she would come by as soon as she could. A little calmer, if not much, he returned to his wife.

She'll come, he said, holding her helplessly, wishing there was more he could do. Don't you worry, everything will be okay.

But he knew he was a liar.

**********

When Judith came, she wasn't alone. Frank stared at the shrunken old woman almost hidden by his dumpy sister-in-law.

Mrs. Collins, he said, trying to collect his thoughts. Calling a physician was a logical thought, one of those Judith would come up with even in emergencies. That wasn't the cause of his surprise, it's just that if he had thought of that, he would have chosen a doctor or nurse, not some midwife with old-fashioned ideas. He looked at Judith, trying to get an explanation.

She has experience with these sort of things, Judith said. Her voice was calm, but her eyes showed traces of crying. Where's Maureen?

In the bedroom. Frank stepped aside and let the women through. As Mrs. Collins passed, she patted his hand in comfort.

the old lady said as she sat down next to the crying young woman. Can you tell us what happened, love?

Maureen took a deep breath and panted: I thought it was Frank.

Because it looked like Frank? Mrs. Collins asked, and Maureen nodded.

But when I kissed him, it wasn't anything like Frank's kisses, and then he turned all spikey and ugly.

Frank shifted restlessly in his chair. This sounded like crazy talk to him, but Mrs. Collins seemed to look at it as something completely natural, and even though Judith seemed stunned, she apparently didn't doubt Maureen's statement. Frank wondered to himself if it was *he* who was going crazy.

And then what? Mrs. Collins asked, gently pushing Maureen further.

He kissed me again. And his spikes She touched her mouth.

They went through your skin.

Maureen stared at her. Yes. After that, I didn't feel so bad anymore. He took me to the bedroom She silenced.

Darling, it's okay, Frank said. You don't have to talk about it.

You don't understand! she yelled at him. I didn't object! I wanted to do it! Oh God, how could I he was so horrible.

Judith mumbled.

I don't know about those fancy words, Mrs. Collins said calmly, but I do know that the Old Ones can put quite a charm on women.

The Old Ones? Frank asked, not believing that they were actually having this conversation.

Judith said, and Maureen cried out loud. Mrs. Collins turned impatiently to Judith.

Girl, if you're going to open your mouth, talk about things you know. That's what the church calls them, and in some cases it is true, but far from always. If this one had been one of the worst, he wouldn't have left her alive.

And if he had been one of the best, he would never have taken her at all, Judith argued, and Mrs. Collins frowned.

True enough. She turned to Frank who sat shaking his head in disbelief. This is no time to deny the truth. There are creatures walking around this world that most men never meet. Your wife has encountered one of them. Are you the sort of man she needs by her side?

Staring into her eyes, he realized that she wasn't lying or insane. This was the absolute truth, and the world was a place he had never truly known. His first impulse was to bolt, run out the door, back to normality. Instead, he stood up and met the little old woman's gaze.
I am her husband. Whatever I have to be, I will be.

Mrs. Collins' face could have been carved in wood, but after a short moment, her lips began to curl. Good. Now stand aside so I can examine your wife.

**********

This looks like a good spot, doesn't it?

Frank looked eagerly at his wife. She had recovered remarkably well from the assault by the demon, both body and soul, but lately she had begun to lose her mirth again, and it broke his heart.

she said, smiling at her husband's eagerness. We can sit here.

They were out for a Sunday picnic, something they used to do when they were engaged, but had forgotten about since.

It's not wet, the grass is soft, and there aren't any ants that I can see, he babbled as they sat down.

It's fine. Really, it is.

She sat quietly on the blanket while they ate, thinking. Frank looked at her slender little body, her beautiful blue eyes and the dark hair that lay so beautifully against her soft white skin. White as snow, red as blood and black as ebony She was his own Snow White, straight out from the fairy tales, herself a fairy prettier than any other. He would have walked on burning coals for her. He took her hand and she met his eyes.

we need to talk.

Uh oh. Nothing good ever comes from we need to talk.

She took a deep breath. I'm pregnant.

A broad smile spread over his face. They had always wanted children, but so far they hadn't had any luck with it. But that's wonderful news! Why Suddenly he realized why this didn't excite her the way it did him, and his smile faded. Oh my God.

She leaned her head in her hands as she kept talking: I haven't told you because I didn't know what to do. I have thought these terrible things.

So it's his, then. Frank could barely speak.

I don't know. That's the worst part, I really don't know. I know that it may be, and for a while that thought was enough for me to want it dead. But now It's my child, Frank. I don't know if it's yours, but I know that it's mine, and it's not to blame for any of this.

He nodded. I understand.

Do you? She looked at him, and her eyes were filled with tears. Because I'm not sure I understand myself.

He moved closer to her and put his hand softly on her stomach. You're right. This is your baby, and that's enough for me to make it mine. We can only hope that it's not *a monster* an Old One.

She glanced at him for a second, and he knew that she, just as he did, was thinking of old horror films. Well, Mrs. Collins had said that not all Old Ones were evil, and if Maureen could bear the thought of having a non-human, horrifyingly ugly child, so could he. But he hoped that it wouldn't come to that.

**********

Maureen walked up the four stairs in a quick pace, but hesitated when she took the last few steps. How would she bring up the subject? This was a priest after all, she didn't know how to talk to him about Old Ones, or childbirth, or the impossible thought of murdering your child. On the other hand, she didn't know how to talk to anyone else, either, and so she reached out her hand to the door that said Allen Murray, and rang the bell.

Father Murray, a stout little man with too wild a beard and too piercing dark eyes for a priest, let her in and offered her some tea. While they were having it, she slowly and with many outbursts of tears explained her predicament to him, and his eyes grew round as marbles.

And I can't help feeling that this is *my child*, that no one should dare try to take it away from me.

Why shouldn't you feel that way? the priest asked gently. It's perfectly natural mother instinct.

Although he was clearly surprised, he had shown no sign of disbelief, nor had he tried to make her the villain of this story, a harlot who had slept with a demon. It was encouraging, and she dared to say:

What about Frank? Is it fair to him that I want this child?

That is up to your husband to decide. If he thinks it isn't, and acts on it, you will certainly have a conflict of interest. However, at the moment I see no need for you to choose between your husband and your child. He has, after all, shown his support.

It could be his, of course, she said hesitantly.

Which is one reason for you not to kill it.

She looked up, afraid. How did you know

I'm not completely out of this world, he said with a smile. I have had girls in here before, saying the same sort of things, and not having half of your reasons to.

She looked down on her own hands moving restlessly in her lap. If it is a child of Hell, isn't it my duty to kill it?

What do you mean by Hell? he asked. An evil child?

I guess. Her voice was little more than a whisper.

But evil is something we choose, as is Hell. This child has made no choices, and thus is neither evil nor good. We have no reason to think your child doesn't have the same free will as the rest of us.

Mrs. Collins did say all Old Ones weren't evil, Maureen said. She said one of the worst would have taken me with force.

Father Murray sat still for a while, spinning his tea cup. Finally, he said: It seems to me you already love this child, whoever its father is. Just remember, if it *is* an inhuman child, it is a great responsibility, and even more difficult than having an ill or deformed child. Can you take that responsibility?

think so, she whispered, tears in her eyes.

Well, then. He smiled at her and kissed her cheeks. God bless you then. And you too, little one, he said to her stomach, making the sign of the cross on it. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

She smiled through the tears and rose to leave, but hesitated.

I don't know if you are the one to talk to

Well, you have started already.

True. But what she had discussed with him so far was affairs of good and evil, something that must be considered within his profession. This wasn't.

I don't know if I should have it at the hospital or not, she said.

His face was a complete incomprehensive blank, so she explained:

If it looks like its father it could hurt me, and then I ought to have a doctor there. But if a doctor sees something like that, wouldn't he have to report it?

The priest understood what she was trying to say. That's a tough one. But you know, Mrs. Collins is very good. You could probably settle for just her. It's your choice, though.

*Everything is my choice* she thought. *I wish it had been my choice to start with. Then I would have chosen never to get into this mess.*

She regretted that thought instantly and struck her stomach. *No, love, I would have chosen you still. One way or another.*

**********

Hold it hold it now push! Mrs. Collins was indeed as fine as any doctor could be, and with Judith and Frank by her side, Maureen felt almost safe. Almost, because this was her first baby, and she was convinced the pain would kill her.

I see the head, Mrs. Collins said, and Maureen held her breath. The woman had spoken in a calm voice, but you never knew She was a witch after all, maybe she could be calm whatever was being born this moment.

Another order to push, and she followed it instinctively, while the thoughts still flooded her head. Mrs. Collins was holding the baby, and although Maureen's eyes were full of tears and sweat, she could see the tiny pink bundle being wrapped in a towel. Pink! It was pink!

She reached out her arms to hold her baby. What a beautiful little one!

Frank, look, she whispered.

I'm looking, her husband whispered, crying. He looks just like you.

Judith darkened at those words and nodded at the midwife to come outside with her. There she sat down at the stairs and pulled up a cigarette.

Are you going to tell them? she asked.

Tell them what? Mrs. Collins asked calmly. It was uncertain then, it's uncertain now, nothing has changed. All we really know is that the child is hers.

Exactly. Are you going to tell them that?

The old woman sat down next to the younger one -- fortunately she was thin enough to fit in beside Judith's stout body -- and accepted a cigarette. She sighed and looked straight ahead, at the road.

I am. But not today. Let them rejoice in his birth.

**********

The phone rang, and Maureen picked it up, absent-mindedly. The voice on the other end of the line was unfamiliar, but the words made her heart cold.

she said weakly, certain that she must have misheard.

Frankie was doing his homework at the kitchen table, and he looked up at his mom, frowning at her peculiar voice.

She didn't answer. She was still listening to the voice on the line, to the explanations and condolences. how did it happen?

Of course, she had always known those machines he worked with were dangerous, a man had lost an arm a few years ago, but she didn't know of any deaths. Any *other* deaths.

That's very kind of you, Mr. Merrill. I could call my sister. I have a sister. I could call her. Now she was babbling.

Frankie stood up, walking towards her, clearly worried now. Mother, what's wrong?
Eventually, she put the phone down and hugged her son closely, relieved he still let her. He was growing up so fast, soon he would be among those boys who wouldn't let their mothers within four feet from them.

There was an accident at the factory. Your father is dead.

Pulling the boy so close she could feel his tears through her blouse, she knew she was telling him the truth. Whatever the circumstances of his birth, Frank was his father, because he always had been. If support, and upbringing, and unconditional love, didn't make you a father, then there was no meaning to the word. They were even alike, in a way. Oh, Frankie *looked* like her, no question about it, but his voice, the way he moved, his sense of humour, that was Frank's.

Frank was gone. She couldn't understand it, couldn't feel it. How could Frank be gone when there was so much left of him?

How could Frank be gone when there was still his child?

I love you, Frankie, she whispered in his ear. I love you so much. And I know your father does, too. Wherever he is. Never forget that.

She rocked him in her arms like a baby. Never forget that.



THE END